


Care

by chains_archivist



Series: Need by Tritorella [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: BDSM, Boys in Chains, M/M, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Tritorella<br/>Time for Duncan to take his licks. Sequel to Need<br/>Warnings:Whatever you call 'Need', this is the same. Another OMC. Even more harmless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Sincere thanks to Maureen, my wonderful beta and Louise, my wonderful friend  
> Rating - NC-17  
> Disclaimer - No copyright infringment intended  
> Please note - a sound is the technical name for the object in question. And do I have to say, don't try this at unless you too are an Immortal?

A week after we returned from the monastery for the third time, I finally broached the subject with Methos that had been occupying my thoughts. The trip had done him an amazing amount of good -- he seemed re-energised, focused and peaceful as I had rarely seen him, and this only increased my desire to talk to him about what we did at Eric's. He had cooked one of his antique dishes, and we were relaxing, replete and dozy, on the sofa, listening to Bach, my head in his lap. He was playing idly with my hair with one hand, and taking the occasional sip of wine from his glass in the other, obviously lost in the music and his own thoughts.

"Methos?" I said quietly.

"Mmmm?" He looked down at me. "Thought you were asleep, Duncan."

"Not quite. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Does it bother you at all that I don't play in the scenes? That you like it and I don't?"

He smiled. "So that's what's been going on in that head of yours since we got home. No, Mac, it doesn't. As long as you don't mind, and you don't feel uncomfortable watching, I'm perfectly happy that you and I have different needs and desires in this respect."

He closed his eyes, and I saw his head moving gently as he listened to a particularly lovely phrasing. I respected that pleasure and waited until it was done. "What?" he asked, opening his eyes and seeing me watching him.

"I just ... I never thought I was a coward, but I couldn't do what you do. Surrender to the pain like that, expose yourself."

He sighed. " I thought you understood that. The pain is the gateway for me -- it's because I'm _afraid_  of the pain that it works." He touched my face. "You're no coward, Mac. You couldn't use pain that way -- you're not afraid of it at all. What you fear is the loss of freedom, of control." On another occasion this might have led me to make some cutting remark about who was the control freak in our family but it wasn't an argument I was after now.

He fell silent and resumed the stroking of my hair while I thought about it. He wasn't completely right -- I don't fear injury or pain during a battle or a fight, but cold-blooded, deliberate infliction of agony ... like Methos, I had been tortured in the past for real. Unlike him I didn't think I could bear that willingly, let alone enjoy it. "Maybe you and I should try some stuff together, get me used to it."

He gave me one of his warm smiles, reminding me all over again how much I loved him and how much he loved me. "Duncan, don't do this to yourself. You don't even like being blindfolded, and the one time I tried tying you up, you nearly had heart failure, remember? Honestly, this is not a big thing with me. You deal with things differently. You like different sensations. We  _are_  different."

I sat up and pulled him close to me, so now he was in my lap. His head rested in the crook of my neck, and I could smell the freshly washed warmth of his hair. "But that's what's bothering me. It's like, there's this part of you I can never understand, and I think it is only fear that stops me from understanding. If I could just break down that fear ...."

He kissed me, and I spent several pleasurable seconds exploring his talented, wine-flavoured mouth. When we broke apart, he answered. "You won't overcome that fear by me tying you up or hitting you, Mac. All that will happen is that you will become agitated and angry, and I don't think it's worth a breach between us. What we have is too precious to endanger."

"But ...." He stopped my mouth with his finger.

"No. Mac, we've been together a long time. This is no more important than me liking anchovies and your not. Now, take me to bed. I love dazed well-fed Highlanders for dessert."

The lovemaking was good, as it always was -- but afterwards, I lay watching the ceiling feeling an opportunity had been lost. I hated being afraid, and I hated not being able to do something that I felt I was capable of doing. But more than that -- I wanted to know everything about my lover, and this was such a big part of him, or so it seemed to me.

Other worries, other concerns took over in my mind over the course of the next few weeks. The pre-exam and exam period was always busy and stressful at the University, and Methos was asked to sit on three separate PhD boards. We took the time to drive over to Seacouver and visit Joe, who had been in poor health for a couple of months but delighted, as always to see us. Methos was thoughtful, but not unduly bowed down by Joe's condition -- the Watcher was not in imminent danger of dying. Well, no more than any other mortal is. He hadn't even retired yet, although he had started making plans.

For two months, we were busy and running about between tasks and appointments. Then suddenly, with end of semester, it was all over. We celebrated our freedom at a restaurant we often went to when neither of us fancied cooking. "Eric called this afternoon," Methos announced after we'd ordered. "He's invited us up next weekend. Want to go?" he asked casually, toying with a bread roll.

Normally the answer would be an automatic yes, but then I remembered our earlier conversation. I refused to let my own reservations destroy something Methos enjoyed and which offered me a break as well. "Of course. Let him know we'll be up on Friday if that suits."

We didn't discuss it further until we were packing before lunch to drive up, and Methos was dithering between two apparently identical shirts. He looked at me suddenly. "Mac, if this bothers you, we don't have to go."

"It doesn't bother me, you know that. Besides, it'll be good to get up in the mountains again. The heat's driving me crazy."

Methos gave me one of his enigmatic smiles -- and then packed both the shirts.

It was a relief to get away from the urban sprawl and into the cooler, cleaner air of the mountains. I wondered if we'd made a mistake, when we'd moved from Seacouver, in deciding to settle in town because of our jobs. Both of us preferred natural surroundings, rare as they were becoming. At least Eric offered us a taste of peace.

He was there to greet us at sundown as always, and kissed us both gently on the cheek, his hug for each of us equally warm. "My dear children, how lovely. Was the trip awful? The roads get so busy."

"No, it was fine," I told him.

"Oh good. Well, you know the way by now," he chuckled. "Why don't you eat and clean up, and join me, say, at eight? In the parlour, for a drink?"

We agreed and he disappeared to his own private rooms. We never ate with Eric -- his lover was too shy of people -- but we often spent time talking in the evenings in the comfortable room he called his 'parlour'. What we did during our stay was usually agreed then, unless, as we had on our second visit here, we had left him to decide what was the best thing for Methos.

A simple meal was waiting for us, and we ate it gratefully, the mountain air giving us both a hearty appetite. Afterwards, we had a leisurely bath, Methos holding me in his arms as we soaked, the peace of this place entering our souls at the same time. All was quiet, except for the deep sounds of wind chimes, and the single note of the bell calling the monks to prayer. Methos washed my hair for me, and spent a long time gently untangling the strands -- a meditation for him, he had once said only half joking. "Are you going to play this time?" I asked.

"I hope so. Nothing heavy though. I don't need it."

"No."

"Mac, you don't need to watch. You could go hiking."

"No. I enjoy being with you, watching you enjoy yourself."

"Okay."

Finally we decided we were clean enough, and redressed in clean clothes before making our way down to the parlour. Eric was waiting, and offered us our preferred drinks without asking -- he prides himself on remembering that sort of thing. I sipped a truly excellent whiskey, and Methos some calvados as we settled into the deep leather armchairs. "So, how have you been, Adam?" Eric asked.

"Good, Eric. Busy, but centred."

"And you, Duncan?"

"Fine. Glad to be finished the academic year again."

He looked at me shrewdly. "Adam tells me you are somewhat troubled by your last visit here."

Okay, so this invitation wasn't quite as spontaneous as I'd been led to believe. These two had been plotting. I gave Methos an accusing look, and he shrugged. "Mac, I needed his advice. I don't know the answers to your questions."

"Listen, it's no big deal," I said, uncomfortable with being thus exposed.

"But child, it is. You feel distanced from your lover by something he needs, something he enjoys and that you do not. That is not good, for either of you."

"So what do we do about it?" I said, somewhat more roughly than I meant to. "I don't want to do it, and not wanting to is what bothers me. I don't want to be afraid."

Eric laughed. "Duncan, you foolish boy. What you do, helping me, takes more bravery than what Adam does. You don't even like participating, and you could easily refuse -- but you don't. Only your great heart makes you stay."

I accepted the compliment with a smile. "But I still don't understand it."

"No, I know. I'm surprised you haven't reached this point before, and I applaud the fact you don't want to walk away from it. Now we have two choices, it seems to me. You carry on as you have been, and try and work through the dilemmas in your own mind -- or .... " He paused, spreading his hands to indicate that there were other options - "... you try it for yourself."

"I can't," I burst out. During our conversation, Methos had stayed silent, but now he moved a hand to place it on my arm, rubbing it a little in reassurance. I turned to looked him and he smiled encouragingly.

Eric spoke. "You can, of course you can. What you mean is that you won't allow it," he said kindly, without any accusation in his voice. "That's okay too, Duncan. It isn't for everyone -- or even most people."

For some reason that made me angry, mainly with myself. "No, I've changed my mind. I want to try."

"Duncan," Methos murmured.

"Adam, I have to. I might even like it," I said, smiling crookedly.

Eric gripped my hand. "Duncan, this isn't like going to the dentist. It is a very intense experience, and challenges a lot of one's self-beliefs, one's self-image. It can be pleasurable, certainly -- but it can also awaken a lot of demons. Are you ready to face that?"

That brought me up short. I knew what it was like, quite literally, to be pursued by a demon, and I also knew personally what losing my personality meant. I turned to Methos. "You think it could be dangerous?" To you, was the unspoken addition. I had never  _quite_  got over the sense of being an unexploded bomb following the Dark Quickening, something the horrendous time dealing with Ahriman had reinforced. If doing this could unleash those forces again ... I couldn't risk that.

He knew what I meant and shook his head. "Not in that sense, no. But it could be opening a can of worms you don't want opened, and that, at the very least, could be unpleasant for you."

"But you two would be there?" I asked Eric.

"Of course, and I would try to ensure things never got too heavy for you. Everyone is different, child. This is not a test of your virility or your courage. Neither is in dispute."

Methos circled the back of my hand slowly, the soft warmth of his fingers offering comfort, and I drank the Scotch in silence while I thought about what he had said. Finally -- "I'd still like to try."

Eric looked at Methos, and I could see that I had given them the answer they wanted -- or at least expected. "All right," Eric said. "Do you trust me, Duncan?"

"Of course!"

He smiled. "Thank you, child. In that case, I'd like to talk to Adam for a few minutes. Why don't you go to the secluded garden? It's very pleasant in the evening."

I did as he suggested and made my way to the courtyard garden which was almost Zen-like in its serenity and uncluttered layout. There were lamps lit here and here, which glittered in the water of the pool into which a little fountain played. I found a seat by a juniper bush, inhaling the clean, strong evergreen scent. How I loved being here -- I just wished, occasionally, that Methos didn't need the other aspects of this haven. But he had had an exceptionally hard life, compared to mine. No wonder he had nightmares.

I realised I was no longer alone -- and that the stranger was another Immortal. "Eric?" I called.

A rustling, and Holy Ground though it was, I half wished I'd brought my katana. "It's not Eric," a soft voice said, English-accented as was our host's. A young seeming man appeared in the light of one of the hanging candle lamps. "Hello."

He was ... pretty was the only word for him. Not quite as tall as me, with curly red hair, soft but masculine features, and deep green eyes, he looked a little bit like Richie had, without really resembling him. He certainly was a good-looking man "You must be Henry," I guessed, holding out my hand. He shook it quickly. He looked no more than twenty-five although I knew in reality he was older than me. "I'm Duncan MacLeod."

"Yes, um, I know. Eric's told me about you."

He looked ill at ease, shifting slightly from foot to foot. "Would you like me to leave the garden to you?" I offered, standing up. I guessed that this was probably his private retreat.

"No, no, it's okay. Please sit."

"Only if you do." He joined me on the stone bench. "It's lovely here."

"Do you think so?" he said, pleased. "It's ... I mean, I ...."

"You designed it?" He bobbed his head. "It's truly beautiful. I feel my soul is at peace here."

"Oh, good," he said quickly.

"Do you come here much?" I asked.

"In the evenings, all the time. I like being alone, except when I'm with Eric." He looked at me as if he was afraid he'd been rude. "I didn't mean..."

"I understand. Sometimes other people are hard to take, and it's worse when you're Immortal." His shyness reminded me of Methos when I first met him. But that had all been an act ... somehow I didn't think Henry was hiding much but a gentle soul, perhaps too gentle for what we were.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the cicadas and the other night time insects. "Henry, can I ask you something?"

He looked at me, startled, and for a moment he looked like a child, eyes wide in surprise. "Don't look so worried," I laughed and he grinned.

"Sorry. What do you want to know?"

"Do you and Eric ... the scenes, do you ...?" I clammed up -- I realised I was being incredibly personal.

"What's wrong, Duncan? Something is bothering you," he said with unexpected perception.

"Adam .... he likes it, and I ... it's not my thing, but I want to understand ...." I was unusually tongue-tied, but I wasn't used to talking to a stranger about this.

"I think I get it. Eric and I don't ... I mean ... I'm frightened of it," he said, abashed.

"Exactly," I burst out. "I don't want to be afraid of it."

"Why not? Duncan, it's  _normal_  to be afraid of being tied up and beaten!" Then he chuckled as if he'd made a great joke, and I smiled at my own foolishness.

"And Eric doesn't mind?"

"Heavens, no. I think he prefers it -- he doesn't confuse our relationship, our love-making, with the games he plays with our friends."

Now I was more perplexed than ever. Why did Eric do this?

"Because it helps people. And he likes the power, and caring for others," Henry said, startling me. I hadn't realised I'd spoken out loud and started to apologise. "No, it's all right. Would you like to know how we met?"

"Only if it doesn't bother you to tell me -- I'm being rude for a guest, don't you think?"

He laughed again. "Oh, I don't think so. And I feel I know you  _so_  well." Now I flushed, remembering that this innocent man's secret pleasure was watching others at theirs. Henry helped Eric keep an eye on his guests when he himself could not do so, and the only request Eric had made of us in return was to allow his lover to watch the private tapes of the scenes. It wasn't a precondition, merely a favour, and we had readily agreed. So Henry had seen both me and my lover with our pants down, literally. "Does that bother  _you_?"

"Not any more," I admitted, and he smiled.

"Well then. I was a monk in the fifteenth century, in a monastery in England. I'd been there since before my first death -- I'd died of plague, and the abbot then was sensible enough not to condemn me as a devil when I revived. He called me an angel, actually," and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "Anyway, he let me stay, and said I would have a home in the monastery as long as I lived. His successors kept his promise, and I might be there still if not for Eric. He was an abomination to our order. He'd been waging a private war against all clerics ever since he'd been betrayed to his enemies in France by a treacherous priest, taken prisoner and brought back to trial in England. He was castrated and tortured, his wife condemned like him for alleged treason, tortured to death in front of him before he was hung and buried. His lands and property were all forfeit. He revived in his grave -- you can imagine, he wasn't really sane for a long time after that."

I was horrified by the miserable history of a man who had become so dear to me, and who was such a gentle, good man. "What happened to him after that?"

"He wandered, living in forests and off charity for a long time, no better than an animal or so he's told me. By pure chance, he met a good woman, another Immortal, who helped him regain his mind, and told him what he was."

"Rebecca," I said, guessing, and he nodded.

"Yes -- it's where he first met Amanda, but he doesn't remember much about that time. He was much too full of hate for Rebecca to help as much as he needed or as she would have wanted, but at least he was not quite so mad when he left her retreat. From there, he went back to France in search of the monk who had betrayed him. When he found the monastery, he demanded that the man be brought to him. The abbot refused, and was killed on the spot. Brother after brother offered themselves in the place of the coward, and Eric killed them all. Finally, he entered the holy place without resistance and discovered the traitor cowering and pulled him out. But there was a final irony -- the man was also Immortal. This didn't stop Eric -- in front of all the lay brothers who were the only ones left alive, he re-enacted all the tortures that had been visited on him and his family. The man died over and over. When Eric was done, he dragged him off holy ground and took his head."

"My God," I breathed. "But how did you meet him?"

"Bad luck," Henry smiled. "My abbot and several of us were travelling together, returning for the Easter festivities at our own monastery after visiting our brothers in another. We encountered Eric on our path, and with his hatred of all priests, he called out the reverend father to him. Our abbot knew it was probably likely to end badly, but was unafraid of death -- he was a  _good_  man, Duncan. I couldn't stand by and watch him killed or humiliated, so I rushed up to put myself in his path. You should have seen Eric then, Duncan. So full of anger, bristling with weapons, magnificent and terrifying, with the Immortal Presence which I felt through my whole body -- you see, I didn't know what it was, as I'd never met one of our kind before. He was on this  _enormous_  war horse, black and as evil tempered as its owner.

"What ho," Eric said when he saw me. "The fool has a fool protector? Well, little one, you will see you can actually be killed. Kneel to your master!" he shouted.

"No," I said. My knees were shaking, let me tell you, but I knelt only to the reverend abbot and to God, and no one else.

"No?" He leaned down and grabbed my habit. "Hmmm, what have we got here? A little rabbit, I think. I think I'll keep you for a pet -- until I get bored." And then before I could move, he looped a rope over my neck, and had pulled it tight. He started to ride off, dragging me behind him, and I had to run or I would choke. At least he'd forgotten about our abbot and my fellow monks -- I never saw them again. I could hear them crying after to me but I was too busy trying to breathe. I got my hands on the rope finally and tugged. It made him look at me.

"What do you want from me?" I gasped out.

"To do what your god has been doing to me for years -- play with you. And then I am going to take your head."

"And then I will come back," I said defiantly.

He smiled at me evilly. "Not from a beheading, little rabbit." He looked at me, all dusty and panting. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what? That you try to hide your self from the love of God and his children through your evil deeds? Then you have failed, sir. God still loves you, and so do I." I have to admit I didn't feel very loving right at that point, but I believed the message of Christ, and this creature wasn't going to change my mind.

He laughed out loud. "Love me? You're not a fool, you're just mad. A mad Immortal, wonderful. It will be a mercy to kill you."

"You ... you know what I am?" I said in shock.

"Of course, rabbit. I am the same -- well, the same only better, since I don't hide behind this," he flicked at my habit, "or this," as he used his reins to touch my tonsure."

"No, you hide behind your sword and your horse and your hatred, Eric the Damned."

"Oh, ho, you know me then, rabbit." Still holding onto my leash, he dismounted. Even on foot, he was terrifying -- I fancied I could see the blood of his previous victims on his clothes. He slipped the rope off my neck, but then drew his sword and held it at my throat. "Take these off," he hissed, pulling at my robes.

"Do you intend to dishonour me before you kill me?' I asked. My voice shook.

"No, rabbit, I wouldn't waste my time. Your monkish clothes offend me -- now take them off!"

I hastily obeyed, and threw the robes off. All I had on underneath was a loincloth, and I stood shivering in my nakedness. "Poor little rabbit," he sneered. "They don't feed you in those places, do they?"

"I live on nourishment from God," I said pompously, which made him laugh.

"Well, if I decide you are worth wasting food on, you'll be living on my nourishment, not a god's. Put these on." To my surprise he tossed me a wool shirt and pair of breeches.

"You .... you aren't going to kill me?" I squeaked like the rabbit he called me.

"Not yet. I intend to show you that all your talk of the love of God has no meaning for our kind, and maybe then you will understand what your cursed monks have done to me."

Henry looked at me. "And there you have it -- he took me in revenge, and perhaps out of curiosity, and instead he became my teacher. I think I confused him -- he had this image of all priests and clerics being evil and self-righteous, and I was so innocent, knowing nothing, not judging or condemning. Nothing to my credit, you know," he said modestly. "I was a mere babe, I didn't know enough to hate him. It made him hold back long enough that we could become friends, companions. I refused to learn the sword, or to kill, and over and over he was forced to defend me. Why he bothered in the beginning, I didn't know, but why he kept me with him was no mystery. He was lonely, Duncan. The saddest, loneliest man I ever met and all the rage was because he hurt. His first death was caused by bigotry and deception and greed and then over and over, he encountered the loathing of mortals. His pain was almost too much to bear, and I distracted him a little. Later, I came to ease that loneliness, and we became lovers. He taught me about Immortality -- and I taught him a little of gentleness and love. He didn't need it really -- he already had all of it inside him. It was just obscured by the hatred. When he finally let that go, he was realised from a hellish prison."

I began to understand. The transformation from what Eric was then to what he was now was almost miraculous -- but yet I knew other Immortals who had managed to change even more dramatically. I lived with one. "And now ... he helps others?"

"Yes. It's very hard being an Immortal, Duncan, you know that. So much we cannot share with our mortal friends, our lovers. So much we hide, we cannot give. It's a terrible burden." He sighed. "So, to answer your question, Eric doesn't mind me not playing because what I mean to him, what I give to him is not really to do with physical pleasure -- although I try to give him that too," he smiled.

His words stunned me, because that was what Methos had said to me, over and over, about what he did here -- I just hadn't been listening. I had a sneaking suspicion that Eric had intended me to have this conversation. "Henry, you know, I am so glad I met you tonight," I said with sincere gratitude. He stood up and held out his hand for me to shake.

"I'm glad then. Now I need to go in. You too," he hinted, and I realised we'd been out here for nearly an hour. "See you later," he winked, then blushed before walking away quickly.

Henry had given me a lot to think about, and I wasn't sure how I would meet Eric's eyes now that I knew his appalling history. I shouldn't have worried. He smiled as I entered the parlour. "Did you meet Henry?" I could see no trace of the man who had once tortured and killed from hate in the gentle, refined person who greeted me. Who helped him with his demons now? Henry?

"You knew he'd be out there?" I asked, surprised. Methos looked at me with his eyes revealing nothing. I wondered what they had talked about.

"Of course, child. Every night, same time, even when it rains, or snows. Did you and he have a nice chat?"

"Yes. Eric -- he told me ...."

"Yes. I know, Duncan," he said gently. "I've been telling Methos the same thing."

I gasped at his use of my lover's real name. "I told him, Duncan," Methos affirmed. "It seemed only fair. And the rest of it."

The Horsemen? They both smiled at my surprise. "Come and sit down, child," Eric said. "And close your mouth, it ruins the look of that handsome face of yours."

I snapped my mouth shut in embarrassment.. "I ...I'm sorry,' I stammered. "He ... you ...."

"Eric, you really know how to confuse a boy, don't you?' Methos said, clearly amused. "Duncan, it's okay. It's best we don't have secrets -- I've wanted to tell him for a long time, and this was the right moment." I understood -- or so I thought. But it was a breathtaking thing for Methos to do. He was secretive not just by habit but to his very bones. It had taken me years before he let me get close enough to really begin to know him.

I took a seat and looked at him. "It's fine by me -- I'm just surprised, that's all." After all, you hadn't told  _me_  until you had to, I thought, with the tiniest amount of resentment.

"Duncan," Eric said, taking back control over the conversation, "Methos and I have had a nice little chat about what you might like, and now I want to ask you a few things -- that's if you still want to go ahead?" He was only asking -- there was no pressure in his voice or his expression. If I had backed out then, I knew he would not think any less of me at all.

"Yes, I do," I said firmly.

He patted my hand. "Brave lad. Now, what are you most curious about?"

I'd thought a little about it, and was now sure. "I think," I said slowly, "that I understand why Methos needs the heavy scenes from time to time. I get something a little like that from exercising. But what I don't understand is how pain and restraints can be enjoyable." I'd watched Eric and Methos play, and while I had certainly found some of it highly arousing to look at -- both men were graceful as cats in their movements, and in play, they made a powerfully erotic and beautiful duo -- I had a lot of trouble understanding why it was pleasurable for them.

"I think we might be able to show you that, at least. Now, is anything off limits? Only Methos will make you come, but I want your permission to touch you in any other way I choose. I won't make you bleed, unless you want that, but you will suffer welts and bruises, if you permit it. I won't do anything I wouldn't do with a mortal novice. And I don't do scat or watersports," he said with a delicate shudder.

"Uh, good," I winced, and I saw Methos grin. He knew how fastidious I was. "No, I can't think of anything that would be off limits."

"Well, just to be perfectly safe, you will use a safeword. "I started to question this, but he stopped me. "I know -- Methos doesn't. Methos is a very experienced bottom, Duncan, and knows exactly how far we can both go. He could make me stop if he wanted to -- he knows that. You don't. Now, you will say 'red' once, if you want me to stop temporarily. I'll suspend the rules of the scene and you will tell me what the problem is. If you say it twice, I will stop what we are doing, no discussion. And if you say it three times, we will stop the scene completely and abandon it. No shame or embarrassment from doing so either. Do you understand?"

"But ...."

"If you don't agree, Duncan, I won't do it," he said severely. "I tell you again -- this is not a test of your manhood. This is not like when Methos comes here for relief -- I'm not going to break you, and I won't allow you to push me to try. And Methos will also be able to stop the scene. He knows you much better than I do. He will also release you instantly if you ask him, no matter what word you use. But you must ask him, not me, so I know you mean it. Understand?"

"But will it be intense enough then?" I said doubtfully, slightly ashamed that they felt they had to treat me so carefully.

Methos gave Eric a knowing look and Eric grinned. "Oh, yes, child. I think it will be. Now, any questions? You feel ready for this now? We can do it tomorrow, or another time if you like."

"No, tonight. I ... I don't think I could come back," I said honestly. Eric nodded.

"Well, then we begin. Two rules, Duncan. Total instant obedience to both of us, and no sound -- no speech, no cry, nothing -- without permission, other than what we have discussed. Understood?'

"Yes, master, "I said automatically, and as Eric grimaced, and I saw the slight sparkle of mischief in Methos' eyes, I realised I'd failed before I had started.

"Not the best beginning, child. You will have to be punished for that later. Now, strip." The suddenness of the command took me by surprise, and I sat gaping at him until I heard him sigh. I'd done it again. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Not wishing to appear totally moronic, I stood and hastily removed my light sweater.

"Now, now, Duncan," Eric chided. "Don't compound your disobedience with clumsiness. I know you have a lovely body, and I'm sure Methos does, so let us see that." I think my face probably was beet red by now.

I'd been naked in front of both men before, together and separately but to take my clothes off for their entertainment, as they lounged, fully dressed, drinks in hand ... I felt like a hooker. Something of that must have showed in my face because Eric nodded to Methos, who stood up. He came to me and took my hands. "It's okay, Duncan," he said quietly, his eyes full of concern and tenderness. "It is just us. We want to see your body because it is beautiful, not to humiliate you." I felt the warmth in my chest that I always got when Methos told me how much he desired me, and he smiled as he saw my pleasure at his words. He kissed me again, and then began to slowly unbutton my shirt, peppering light kisses on the flesh as it was bared. He rubbed his hand on my groin -- I was becoming hard. I felt as if we were alone as we would be in our own living room, and I began to relax. He nuzzled against my cheek. "Good," he whispered. "Now finish things for me."

He gave me a soft kiss then stepped away, smiled and sat down. I no longer minded what I'd been asked to do -- the love in his eyes could have induced me to do much more humiliating things, and this was only humiliating if I thought it was. How could it be? My friend and my lover wanted nothing but the best for me, and were helping me experience something new in the kindest, safest way possible.

I finished unbuttoning my shirt slowly, trying to infuse the task with the same grace I might bring to a kata. I folded the shirt and placed it on the chair. I toed off my loafers, and took my time taking off my slacks. When my hands were on my boxers, I saw Eric's eyes widen, and Methos stick his tongue between his lips as he does when he's concentrating. I knew without looking he was hard as a rock, and I smiled to myself. Who's controlling whom, I wondered. I slid my boxers down, and kicked them off carelessly, then stood, nude except for my white socks, my head held high and ready for their command, my hands behind my back to show I had no shame at their regard.

Eric stood up and walked around me slowly. "Yes, very lovely, Duncan. You should be proud -- your body would make a pagan lie down and worship." Although he was always generous in his compliments, I flushed a little with pleasure at his words. He knelt down. "Lift your foot, child." I did so, and he peeled off my sock, caressing my ankle as he did and stroking slowly up the inside of my leg. My cock was heavy, aroused and twitched as his hand approached, just stopping short of my testicles. "Now the other?" He repeated the action, laying the sock on top of the pile of discarded clothing, before standing up. He stroked my cheek. "That's better. Methos, would you hand me the collar?"

I stiffened. I'd seen Methos wear a collar in the scenes, and it was the one thing that I could never understand -- even more than all the other things I didn't understand. I clamped down on my instinctive desire to reject this, determined to go on with it if it killed me. Apparently unaware of my reaction, Eric took the thing from Methos' hands -- was that a flicker of sympathy from my lover? Methos was playing the obedient helper and I knew he wouldn't rescue me from this. If I wanted to stop, I would have to do that myself. And I wouldn't.

Eric held it up to me. "Do you accept this?"

I hesitated only for a second, before I lowered my head and kissed it. "Brave lad," Eric said quietly, and I knew he had seen my misgivings after all. "Kneel, Duncan." I did so, and he stroked my hair before fastening the collar around my neck and buckling it. Immediately, I imagined that my throat was being constricted, that I was marked in shame ... I fought my instinct to tear it off me, and as I looked up, I saw the master had not missed this either, his expression kind and patient. He waited, keeping my eyes on him, until I had beaten down my fear. He touched my face. "Good. Now make obeisance."

He stepped back so I could kiss his shoe. Fortunately, his soft leather loafers were clean -- Eric didn't believe in humiliation, and he only wanted the lightest brush of my lips as symbolic acceptance of his authority. I knew no one else could have induced me to do even this. I knelt up. "Collect your clothes, and come with us," he said, then turned and walked out.

My awkwardness returned at the idea of wandering about the halls here in the nude. Methos gave me an encouraging smile but turned and walked out of the room with Eric leaving me to clear up and trail after them, like the child Eric called me. Part of me was amazed at how many emotions Eric had managed to evoke in me in such a short period of time, and with such simple commands. The rest of me was in turmoil -- what the hell had I got myself into, and was I completely insane to continue? I could feel my stomach and my balls tighten in an adrenalin-induced fear response, and I sternly ordered myself to unclench, relax, breathe normally. It was a point of pride to walk with my head high and with no hesitation.

Eric was busy over at his cupboards when I entered the playroom. Methos took my clothes from me, whispering 'Courage, love' as he brushed past me. Did I look so nervous? This was so unlike what I was expecting. Watching was nothing like participating -- did Methos feel this sickening mix of apprehension and anticipation when he played here? Did his stomach flipflop as he waited for his master's command, for me to bind him? Did he have to lock his knees to prevent them shaking?

Eric turned away from his stores and came to me. "Put out your wrists, Duncan." I knew what was coming and so did not flinch when he fastened soft leather cuffs around them. "Methos, would you, please?"

Methos came to me and took my hands, pressing a soft kiss on each palm before leading me over to the poles fixed in the middle of the room, on which I had bound him several times in just the way he was preparing to do to me. There were any number of ways I could be restrained, some very uncomfortable, and I should have been relieved when he merely fixed each wrist to the pole, leaving me stretched. He tapped my ankle and I slid my legs apart so he could chain them likewise to the poles. Now I was spread in an X, and I've never felt so open, so exposed and vulnerable in my life with my neck and my privates equally at the mercy of the men who controlled me. Despite my resolution, I could feel myself begin to tremble, and tried to tell myself it was just the position. I held my head up, not looking at Methos or Eric, but I had to clench my fists in my bonds to stop myself tugging against them. God, I hated this already.

Methos was fussing about me, loosing my hair and arranging it so it fell clear of my neck, unstrapping my watch, running his hand down my chest. His eyes met mine, and I felt myself calm down. I was safe. I was loved. He would not let me come to harm. Little crinkles around the green-gold -- I had pleased him by settling down.

He stepped away. "Thank you, Methos," Eric said. "Now take your clothes off."

Methos smiled. He showed none of my hesitation as he slowly, seductively unbuttoned his shirt, trailing his fingers luxuriously over his skin. As he took off his trousers, I realised he had changed underwear during my absence in the garden -- now he was wearing a black thong. He saw me look at it, and grinned. This much I understood -- I would be the only one who was completely naked.

Methos finished undressing and laid his clothes aside. I was already finding the position I was in a strain, my legs being spread more than was precisely comfortable and seeing Methos unclothed had its usual effect on me. I wanted to wriggle to relieve some of the tension but my pride made me hide my discomfort. But as if my mind was being read, Methos came to me carrying a bottle of massage oil. Eric stood in front of me, and held his hand out imperiously. Methos poured a little oil into his hand, and then moved behind me. The warm smell of sandalwood filled the air in the small room. In delicious synchronisation, front and back, they began to massage me, and -- the strain in my back began to ease, and my legs ceased wanting to wobble. My muscles felt as if they were liquefying, and I relished the touch of two pairs of strong, able hands on mine skin, happy to surrender to the sensation. If I had had permission to speak, I would have asked if this was Eric's idea of pain. I think he knew what I was thinking, for he gave me a sly smile, never ceasing the moving of his hands. In tandem, they moved slowly down my body, Methos rubbing my shoulder blades at the same time as Eric began to gently tease my nipples.

A very tiny part of my brain said this was something that should worry me. I had been involved in threesomes before, but never all male, and never with Methos. I'd had sex with Eric once before, and I wasn't shy in front of him, but it did occur to me that perhaps Methos and I should have talked about this. "Stop thinking, Duncan," Eric said quietly. He met my eyes. "This is about feelings. Feel your body. Listen to it. Leave the world out there. Nothing in here has anything to do with out there."

I nodded slightly. He kissed me on the lips. "Good, child." He bent and bit my right nipple hard. I jerked, but just in time remembered his injunction to make no sound. My god, that had hurt, but my cock had twitched at the same time. He saw the surprise in my eyes. "Listen to it," he said again, before soothing the abused nipple with his oiled fingers. Methos' hands had not stilled, and continued to move over my back as Eric bit my left nipple. I caught my bottom lip in my teeth, and would have yelped if I'd been allowed when Eric's tongue, rough and hot, stroked over the nub. I had lost my erection, but now I felt it coming back. I didn't understand -- that had just hurt. Hadn't it?

Eric ran his fingernails down my flanks, which tickled, but when he cupped my balls, I shivered. Did he know ...? It seemed he did, for all he did was to stroke them with his finger tips over and over. I was hard as hell by now, and getting harder as Methos began to stroke between my ass cheeks. When his finger was replaced by his clever tongue, I jerked again in surprise. Eric looked at me. "One more thing, Duncan. You can't come until I give you permission. If you do, I will have to punish you."

Oh God. I had no practice at this, and the way they were stroking and licking me ... my cock was so rigid with need, I felt the smallest stimulation would send me over the edge. I had steeled myself for pain, not this ... this loss of control over my own body, not being able to move or carry out this most involuntary of actions. I felt my arms tiring from the effort of not struggling against the bonds -- I wanted to reach down and take myself in hand, if I could not beg for orgasm. My cock quivered, and I had to lock my legs and hips so that I did not thrust into the empty air, proclaiming my animal need to penetrate.

Eventually they tired of this game, and with relief, I watched Eric stand up. I wished I could see Methos' face, even though I could feel the heat of his body close to mine. Eric walked over to the cupboard, picked something up and brought it over to me. When he held it up, I almost shuddered. A blindfold. I had a childish fear of the dark -- something Methos had only discovered by accident when he innocently slipped a scarf around my eyes one night in bed. "Red," I blurted out.

Eric dropped his hand. "You don't want me to blindfold you, Duncan?" He looked a little puzzled -- the thing was harmless enough.

I wasn't sure if I could answer him back. "It's all right, until I say so, you may speak freely," he said.

"I ... didn't Methos tell you?" I was so ashamed of this.

"No, love, I forgot, I'm sorry. Eric, this is a big no-no for him." Methos voice was by my ear, and when he finished speaking, he kissed me softly on the cheek in apology and comfort.

Eric nodded. "I see. Okay. Duncan, in a moment, I'm going to ask you to shut your eyes and you mustn't open them until I say. Can you do that?"

"Yes, master," I said with relief.

"All right. Methos, I shall have to punish you for that -- that was a serious lapse, you should have told me."

"Yes, master Eric," Methos said meekly. I wanted to protest, but I felt that would make things worse.

"Now, Duncan. No more speech or sound. Close your eyes. Remember, you are safe. You will come to no harm."

I did as he said, and then I felt his lips brush my own gently, Methos' hands stroking my back carefully, before the loss of warmth told me they had both moved away from me. What did Eric want me not to see?

Then I felt a light touch over my balls, at the same time as there was one behind me on my backside -- what was this? Not fingers. It tickled. It tickled a  _lot_. Oh, the bastards! They trailed the damned things over my sides, and my stomach, and the back of my legs -- I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or to moan. The touches were pleasant on their own, in small amounts, but all together and going on and on ... "Don't move, Duncan," Eric warned. Damn him!

It was utter torment, and to make it worse, my treacherous cock was only being stimulated more. I ached to be able to touch it, or to have it touched in a way that would let me come, but all that happened was the teasing switched to my genitals. No, this was not what I had expected!

I could feel sweat breaking out on my face long before they finally stopped, and my legs and arms ached with strain. But again, Eric seemed to read my mind, because the next thing I knew I was being massaged again, deep and soothingly, along my tired limbs. That felt wonderful. "You may open your eyes now, child," Eric said, and as I did so, I saw what had tormented me -- a white ostrich feather in his right hand. The master smirked, no doubt pleased at the reaction he had got with such an innocuous thing. Even Amanda didn't know tricks like this.

Eric moved behind me and traded places with Methos, again beginning the deep massage. They kept this up for a few minutes until I felt dreamy and relaxed, almost forgetting I was bound. Eventually, they stopped -- what did Eric plan now? I wondered. He began to sweep his hands in long strokes down my back, down over my backside -- a lighter touch than the massage, almost like he was stroking a horse, or a dog. Suddenly, a sharp sting on my buttocks and a loud noise -- Eric had slapped me! I clenched my backside involuntarily against the slight pain. Methos sank to his knees in front of me, not touching me but looking up at me as Eric began to rain open-handed smacks on me, each one sounding as loud as a gunshot. It stung, but that was all -- it was more humiliating than anything. My bum was feeling pretty warm after seven or eight whacks -- I could well imagine it was getting red too.

The slaps stopped for a moment, and I felt Eric move away again. Then a new sensation -- heavier, louder, thudding against my flesh. Methos saw my surprise -- 'flogger', he mouthed, and I understood. I'd seen them used, but didn't know what they felt like. I'd been whipped with far worse in anger, and the sensation was ... well, I had to say it was almost pleasure. The blows continued, over my butt, my legs, my shoulders. The whole back of my body seemed oversensitised, and the air passing over my abused ass as the flogger passed by seemed to irritate me. It wasn't easy not to cry out or wriggle, but I was not tempted to use my safeword -- this was well within my tolerance.

This went on for several minutes, and I was running with sweat from the effort of keeping still and quiet by the time Eric finished. My cock was as hard as ever, though, and my balls felt heavy -- strange. It was almost like after being in a duel, or taking a Quickening, which was also painful but usually left me highly aroused. Eric walked in front of me again, and taking my chin in his hand, looked into my eyes, assessing, his gentle, kind expression at odds with the his next words. "Good, Duncan. Now, I have to punish you for your disobedience earlier. I am going to use this." He held it up for me to examine -- a small single tail leather whip. "Twenty lashes?' he asked Methos to confirm, and my lover nodded. Twenty! It wasn't the bull whip, but it wasn't a toy either. He'd promised me he wouldn't make me bleed, that was the only comfort I had.

"Ten over your shoulders, ten over your backside. Kiss the whip, Duncan." He held it up and I obeyed, even though my mind rebelled over the humiliation and the planned assault. Whipping was something I had seen done to slaves in the South -- it was something I hated seeing done, even in play, even to Methos who enjoyed the pain. "Methos, stand in front of him."

Methos rose and pressed his body against me. I could feel his erection, but mine had wilted at the thought of the beating. Get on with it, I wanted to scream. "Easy," Methos whispered. Get me out of here, I wanted to say. The first strike jerked a cry out of me which I had no hope of holding back. The crack of the whip sounded terribly loud.

"Now, child, I told you to be quiet. Gag him with your mouth, Methos," Eric ordered, and as Methos' soft lips closed over mine, the master struck me again, on the other shoulder. I moaned. No! I cried in my mind. I don't want this -- this is just pain. Methos' hands were over my nipples, over my chest, rubbing gently -- his eyes were closed and with his face so close I couldn't read his expression. Did he understand -- would he stop this before I broke? The blows fell unrelentingly, a tormenting gap between each, giving the flesh time to resensitise and hurt. Every sound I made was swallowed by Methos' mouth, his tongue seeking out mine, while his body pressed against me. I wanted his touch, I wanted the pain to stop. How could I bear this?

The first blow on my butt, I couldn't help it -- I shook against the restraints. My ass was already sore. "Don't move again, child, or I shall add five more." I forced myself to still and just tried to endure ... but something weird was happening. With the second, the third strike, I felt them not in my butt, but as if the pain, the sensation, was plugged into my cock, and I felt myself becoming erect again. Methos rubbed his thigh between my outstretched legs, increasing my arousal, the pressure building, the blind need to thrust, to get relief, overwhelming even most of the pain. Methos smiled, he could see what was happening. His thigh teased, but never came close to giving me the friction I desperately wanted. Your hand, your leg -- anything, Methos! I yelled in my mind, gritting my teeth against the desire to move away from the flogger, against Methos.

The twenty blows ended, and I incurred no more. I hung limply in my bonds -- all except my cock, which was more erect than ever. Methos stepped back, so Eric could hold my head. He kissed me on the lips. "Such a brave man, Duncan. You're doing so well." He slid a hand down my stomach and over my erection. "I think you may want to relieve that soon," he said slyly.

Oh yes! I wanted to shout, using all my willpower not to buck into his hand. It was the strangest feeling, being so hard, my backside on fire. My whole mind seemed focussed on the area below my hips, and I was reduced to a lust-glazed idiot, wanting to beg to come and not giving a damn how I looked or sounded. Eric chuckled. "Oh, yes, child, I think you want to be relieved. But you know you did disobey me by crying out."

My heart sank. He wouldn't let me come, I was sure. "Don't pout, Duncan. Methos, come here and put your mouth on him."

Obediently, Methos knelt in front of me, and took my cock in his mouth, and I would have cried out if I was allowed. At last! I clenched my buttocks with the effort of not thrusting -- I knew that would displease Eric -- but fuck, that felt fantastic. He spoke again. "Now, Duncan, because you have been so good, I am going to let Methos bring you to climax. But because you also disobeyed me again, you will have to come while I am caning you. I will stop when you orgasm. If you don't agree, say your safeword now and we will end this."

No! I wanted to come, but I feared the pain. He touched my face. "Easy, child. You can do this for me," he said gently. "Will you? Nod if you agree."

I nodded. I wanted to do this. At the very worst it would be several minutes of discomfort, and I had withstood worse. "Thank you, Duncan. I give you permission to call out or yell, providing you do not use any words other than the safeword." He kissed me and then moved behind me. I looked down -- Methos was bowed over my cock, his tongue giving me teasing licks -- if he wasn't careful, I would come before ... His hand cupped my sensitive balls in the way that only he knew how -- the devil, he knew what he was doing.

Without warning other than the briefest swish, the first strike hit me. Shit! I almost yelled, barely remembering to make it not a proper curse. What was he using? It felt worse than the whip. My cock immediately began to wilt, but then Methos ... ah ... God ... another blow, this time as Methos rolled my balls. I screamed, half pleasure, half pain, ashamed at the noise I was making ... oh Christ, stop! No, I couldn't ... I didn't care that I didn't have permission to move, I jerked madly, wanting more of Methos' mouth, trying to get away from the agony in my butt. It's over when you come, he said -- how could I come like this?

On and on the blows came. Sweat poured down my body and I moaned and cried out non-stop. But again this strange feeling came over me -- the pain was beginning to merge with the heat, the tightness of Methos' mouth, the pleasure of what his hands and his tongue were doing. I felt it all as intense sensation, intense need -- I wanted to come, and in a strange way, I wanted the pain to continue. No, not pain now. I mean, it hurt ... oh, fuck, I didn't know, didn't care. Make me come! I screamed in my mind. "Uh, uh," I grunted, trying to not use the words. My back was aflame, my cock was on fire .... I yelled and twisted, no longer wanting to escape, but just wanting to just come.

Finally -- after much too long -- I screamed a long wordless scream, and came into Methos' mouth, harder than I had ever come in my life. One last blow and then that too was over. I hung, panting, sobbing, tears on my face, my backside sore and my body a mass of aches and pains. I felt exhausted, more than after having run ten miles, or fought a long duel -- and yet I had hardly moved. Methos stood up and hugged me. I rested my wet face on his neck, breathing hard. I couldn't have spoken for a million dollars. Someone caressed my cheek -- Eric. "So beautiful, Duncan," he said quietly, fondly. "I'm so proud of you. Methos, have you got him?"

"Yes, Master." Methos held my waist, supporting me, while Eric undid the restraints on my wrists and ankles. I flopped like a rag doll and was lowered to the ground to lie on my side, my lover still holding me close and murmuring in my ears. I shivered and it took a long time before my breathing calmed down. I felt adrift, drained -- not wanting to move.

Eric knelt down beside us. "Are you all right, Duncan?" I lifted my head and he stroked my face, pushing the hair back. "You can speak now, child. It's nearly over."

"I ...." My voice died -- my throat was dry. "Feel good." It was strange, but I did.

"Intense enough for you?" he teased. I pulled a face -- the bastard knew exactly how intense it had been. "Come, child. Let's finish this and you can get cleaned up."

I knew this bit. Methos helped me kneel up, and Eric stood so I could kiss his shoe again. "Thank you, master," I said sincerely.

"Thank  _you_ , Duncan. That was very moving." He unbuckled the collar, and held his hand out for me to kiss, which I did gratefully. Methos gave me his hand so I could stand up, and Eric kissed my cheek. "Now, you have a hot shower, and Methos will massage you. But there is one more thing. Methos, you know you committed an error that I find hard to forgive. Your punishment is that you will not be allowed to play this weekend, and you will not be allowed to come. You may make love to Duncan as you would normally, but you must not climax. Further more, you will stay naked for the rest of your time here. Do you accept your punishment?"

Methos knelt. "Yes, master. I am sorry." Eric held out his hand, and Methos kissed it. "Will you make me wear the collar, master?"

"No, child." Eric seemed regretful, and I was astonished at how crestfallen Methos looked at this. "Take Duncan to your room and look after him. If you need me, you know where you can find me."

Methos stripped off the thong he was wearing and then collected our clothes under one arm. He offered me his hand and I stood up. My legs felt rubbery, and I really needed his help. Eric watched us go.

"I didn't mean for you to be punished," I said to my lover, ashamed that he should suffer for my weakness.

"Don't be silly, Mac," he said, opening our bedroom door. "You'd have felt the same if one of the dojo staff had injured a beginner through stupidity. I'm just glad I got off so lightly -- Eric would have been justified in telling me to leave immediately."

"Over that?" I said in surprise.

Methos dumped our clothes on an armchair and led me into the bathroom, and made me sit down. "Of course. It could have caused a panic attack or worse -- it could even be fatal for a mortal, and Eric doesn't differentiate just because we aren't." He left me for a moment and returned with a glass of juice. "Here, drink this."

The cold sweet liquid tasted marvellous. "I'm so  _tired_ ," I complained. "I don't understand -- I can work in the gym for hours and yet an hour in the playroom and I'm finished."

"This is a lot more intense, your mind and body have to work very hard." He knelt down and looked at me with worried eyes. "Did you mind, love? I sprang this on you, and you were a good sport about it. Will you forgive me? Did you enjoy it?"

"No, yes, and yes. It was ... amazing. Just amazing. But I don't think I want to do it all the time."

He laughed, relieved. "Neither do I. But you understand, a little?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you." We kissed, and he sighed. "Eric knows what he's doing. I just want to fuck you into oblivion -- you were so  _hot_ , Duncan."

My desire for him was no less. "How would he know?" I said without thinking and realised my mistake instantly

Methos admonished my mistake with a look. "I'd tell him. You know better than that, Mac," he said, sounding slightly disappointed in me. "If Eric can't trust me, can't trust us, then what we are doing here is a mockery. It's all he asks of me -- obedience. If I can't even give him that, I'm a poor friend and a lousy submissive, and I have no business wasting the time of someone like him." He turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature.

"Sorry," I said, ashamed. I was lucky that Methos was much less prickly about his honour than I was -- I had been unbelievably insulting just then. I rubbed his neck. "I never meant to imply you would deceive him. It was a crappy thing to say."

He patted my hand on his neck, then lifted it away. "Don't worry about it. Now, get in."

The hot water was heavenly, and I let it run over me with a sigh. I didn't stand under it for long -- I only needed to wash the sweat off, and I soaped and rinsed quickly. My legs still felt a little rubbery and I wanted to get horizontal. I stepped out and turned the water off. "What was he using at the end?" I asked as Methos wiped my face and shoulders with a cloth.

"A birch. Hurts, doesn't it?"

"Like hell. I still don't understand everything that happened there. It was like my body got confused between pain and pleasure."

'That's about right," he chuckled. "He didn't go anything like as far as he might have done, because you aren't really into it, but at least you get some idea."

"The feather was a bitch," I grumbled.

"Isn't it, just? I've seen grown men reduced to tears by a good top using a feather and nothing else. Come on -- you need that massage."

The soreness in my muscles had all but disappeared -- it would not have been the case if I were mortal -- leaving me with a delicious lassitude and slight horniness. I pitied Methos -- he was hard when we finished the scene, and was still hard as he dried me off. "Maybe we shouldn't do anything," I said, pointing at his erection.

"Now don't make my punishment worse by saying I can't make love to you, Duncan. Besides, you won't be up to much tonight but you'll wake up feeling randier than fuck, trust me. You won't have any qualms then."

I felt slightly outraged at the idea I wouldn't be able to control myself, but he didn't seem to mind -- he was smiling. He led me to the bed, and got me to lie face down, making sure I was comfortable before beginning a slow, gentle massage from my shoulders down. Even though any welts and bruises were fast disappearing, my body was tired from the effort of healing them and from the scene itself -- I felt like I was made of blancmange, too limp even to keep my eyes open.

He was settled on my legs, and his erection was rubbing between my cheeks, getting me aroused again. I wished he could fuck me -- I wanted him so badly. I wriggled and, ever attuned to me, he slid his hand between my cheeks, rubbing sensuously. "Methos...." I begged, and sighed in pleasure as an oiled finger slipped inside me. Was he going to disobey Eric?

He gently finger fucked me for a minute or two, until I was hard and aching for him. "Please, I need you ...." I pleaded.

"I can't," he whispered beside my ear, and I groaned. "Wait ..." I felt him shifting about, and heard the drawers open and close near my head. I still had my eyes closed and was too lazy to open them, so I was slightly surprised when something harder and thicker than his finger replaced it in my ass. A dildo -- not as good as his cock, but enough. He fucked me with it, and slid a hand under me to hold my erection. He lay almost on top of me and licked my neck as he slowly moved the toy in and out. I thought I had come all I could have done that evening -- Methos proved me wrong, as he had done so often in the past, by bringing me to another crashing orgasm. He made me roll over so he could clean me up, and I saw he was painfully hard. "I'm sorry," I said again.

"Please don't, Duncan. I should be apologising to you. It won't kill me, after all." Perhaps not, but being denied Methos' cock was as much a punishment for me as for him. "Guess there was more left in you than I thought," he smiled.

He tossed aside the cloth he had used to clean me, and climbed into bed with me, his hardness digging into my hip. I dared not move in case I made it worse for him, but he seemed content to snuggle close. Aside from my regret over his state, I felt good. So relaxed and well -- content. The bed was comfortable -- everything about Eric's retreat was comfortable and soothing -- and it quickly seduced me towards slumber. But one thing still puzzled me and I wanted to know about it before I gave in to my body's demand for rest. "Methos, tell me about the collar," I murmured.

"Now?" he whined sleepily.

I stroked his hair gently in apology and kissed his brow. "Not if you mind," I answered him but I had already woken him up too much. A great sigh, and he rolled on his back.

"Part of my punishment. Eric was releasing me from our contract for the weekend. He won't ask anything of me, or play with me, or do anything to me. I hope he'll take me back before we leave. If I hadn't been needed for you, he'd have dismissed me from the scene right there and then."

"So the collar is an honour?" I said, confused.

"From him, yes. You have no idea how pleased I was when he offered to give you your first scene. And then I screwed up." He sighed again.

"He'll forgive you," I said.

"Probably. He's a very forgiving person."

I remembered what Henry had said, and agreed silently with Methos' words. "Well, I forgive you. Thank you for tonight, love."

He rolled over, kissed me sleepily and fell asleep at once, curled around me. It took a little longer for me. There were so many things to think about. I thought I knew about what we did here -- Eric had carefully explained so much to me -- and here was a whole realm of experience I had been introduced to. I had got my wish -- to share this special thing with Methos, and even if I had not enjoyed it so much, I would have been happy. And I was happy. Mostly.

I slept soundly and, as Methos predicted, I did wake up aroused. His hand was already curled around my cock, as he liked to sleep that way, and almost before he was awake, he had began to stroke me. I waited until his movements were more deliberate, showing he was fully awake, before pushing his hand away and rolling towards him. "No. I'm not into one-sided sex. I can wait until we get home," I said firmly.

He pursed his lips. "This isn't what Eric wants, Duncan."

"Don't care. He can't interfere between you and me, and this is my decision. I don't like being used to punish you, Methos."

He shook his head ruefully -- I knew his views on my stubbornness, but we'd long since agreed that trying to change my mind when it was made up would just lead to arguments and grief. We ate the breakfast that had been delivered to our room, and then he handed me clean clothes. I refused them. "If you aren't dressing, neither am I," I told him.

"Duncan, no. Sex is one thing, but this will be seen as a deliberate insult to Eric. He doesn't deserve that, or your anger."

"I don't think I'll ever understand this business," I said grumpily, taking my trousers from him with an ill grace.

"Probably not, love," he said with a grin. "But if there was ever anyone born to be a top, it was Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"I don't get any pleasure from ordering people around or dominating them," I said in irritation.

"No, of course not, Highlander," he smirked.

"Shut up."

"Yes, master." Just for a moment, I understood the temptation to give that cheeky backside a slap.

Methos' sentence limited what we could do together. The monastery owned much of the mountain on which it was set, and I liked to go walking, but it wasn't practical for Methos to do that in the nude. Instead we retreated to the garden, and we sat and relaxed together for a couple of hours. The sun was warm, and Methos lay stretched out on a bench, his head in my lap, sunbathing. If he had chosen to be naked, I would have been more than happy to feast on the sight, but every time I looked at him, I was reminded of Eric's displeasure. Finally I sighed. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"This is no good. I'm going to talk to him."

"No, Mac, you mustn't," he said fiercely, but then we were interrupted by an Immortal presence, and then I spotted the figure of our host coming into the garden, walking down the gravel path.

"Good morning, children. Enjoying yourselves?" he said cheerfully, sitting on the bench opposite ours.

"Not exactly, Eric," I said.

"MacLeod," Methos said warningly, sitting up so he could glare at me properly.

"Is something not to your liking?" Eric said, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement. I had to handle this carefully -- if I didn't want to annoy my lover and my friend at the same time.

I got up, walked over to him, and knelt down in front of him. "Master, I wish to ask a favour."

He frowned. "Please get up, Duncan. I am not your master now. What is it you want?"

I'd clearly misjudged things, but I stood up and pressed on. "Eric, please release Methos from his sentence -- or let me share it."

I could feel Methos' displeasure at my interference boring through the back of my skull, and it was reflected in Eric's face. "Duncan, this is really not your concern. Methos knows why I am punishing him. You mustn't interfere."

I pressed on. "I am sorry, Eric. But it  _is_  my concern. You said my not understanding Methos' need was putting a wall between us -- well, so is this. I know why you are angry, but I am as much to blame as he is. I could have said something. Let me share his punishment. And please forgive him -- you know he would cut off his hand before he hurt me. It was a simple mistake -- it's been a long time since the issue came up, I'm not surprised he forgot to tell you."

Please understand, I prayed. Eric regarded me solemnly, and then looked behind me to Methos. "Is it your wish to be released, child?" he asked my lover.

"No, master, it is not. I accept your will at all times."

"Hmmm." He was thoughtful, not really looking at either of us. "All right. Duncan, you will share his punishment until tomorrow evening. But you are wrong, child -- I am not angry with Methos. I don't do this out of anger," he chided.

"But will you forgive him?"

"Methos, come to me." He came and knelt down at my feet and those of Eric. Eric reached down and cupped his chin. "Your lover asks me to forgive you. But do you ask it?"

"Yes, master. I am sorry, more sorry than I can say. I am sick at heart for causing you distress." I stepped back to give the two the moment to themselves. Eric placed his hands on Methos' head tenderly, and Methos looked up at him.

"You are so beautiful, Methos. So dear to me. Of course I forgive you. And you will wear my collar tomorrow night."

"Thank you, master." Eric touched Methos' face, and my lover kissed the offered hand gratefully.

"You are very lucky to have him," Eric told him softly.

"Yes, I know. I am more fortunate now than I have ever been in my entire life." Methos looked up at me with pure love in his eyes, the same look I had drunk in greedily for twelve years, the love which made my very existence a joy and a delight. I came to him, knelt down beside him and took him in my arms.

"I love you," I whispered, not caring that we were being watched. Then I looked up at our host. "Thank you," I said to Eric.

"You're welcome, child. Now, if I'm not mistaken, someone has too many clothes on. Your ... ah ... state will constrain what you can do here, but you can walk around the grounds. No one will see you, or care if they do."

"And tomorrow night?" I asked. We weren't due to go back until Monday, possibly Tuesday.

"I think you might like to explore some more of what you have experienced here -- with Methos' help of course."

He was softening Methos' punishment, and that delighted me. "That would be great, Eric."

He put his hand out and ruffled my hair. "You're a treasure, Duncan. Now, off you go and take your clothes off. I'll see you both after supper in the parlour as usual. Since other activities are out of the question, I expect a damn good game of chess out of you."

Smiling at the prospect. I rose to obey, Methos following behind me as we went back to our room, my heart finally at peace, the last barriers gone between us.

"Naked chess," Methos mused as I got undressed. "Do you think it might catch on?"

"Doubt it -- I think you'd always have one piece that would defeat me every time."

He grinned. "You took a hell of a risk out there, Mac. Not every top would put up with interference like that."

"I guessed he would, Methos. He's a merciful man, a good man. I can trust that in him. That's what Henry was telling me. And I know how much strength of character it takes to leave a murderous past behind, especially for an Immortal." His hazel eyes met mine -- he knew I wasn't talking about Eric.

"So lucky," he murmured, taking me in his arms.

Even though I knew he was talking about himself, I agreed with the sentiment. "Yes," I whispered in his ear. "I am. We are."


End file.
